


An Unexpected Journey

by frodoboggins



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Non Fiction, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4711835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frodoboggins/pseuds/frodoboggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this piece is a non-fiction style piece of (entirely fictitious) travel writing.... it was a piece of coursework i did and really wanted to share it... fin.</p>
    </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Journey

**Author's Note:**

> this piece is a non-fiction style piece of (entirely fictitious) travel writing.... it was a piece of coursework i did and really wanted to share it... fin.

Most folk aspire to venture off into the unknown; to step out the door and see where the rocky path takes them (whereas I would sooner opt for Rocky Road). These trailblazers journey to see the sunrise from a mountain top, or to be awestruck by the moon shine on the glistening ocean; adventurous spirits lead to radiant rivers and ancient civilisations.  
  
Well not me: I dream of none of this. I dream of good food, a warm hearth, and all the comforts of home. And home is where you’ll find me: warming my tremendous thighs under the heat of my laptop, relentlessly clicking the refresh button to enter online competitions more times than is probably permitted. Which is where my journey begins…  
  
  
Once upon a mid-September I won a competition which allowed me, and a friend of my choice, to travel to New Zealand and visit the set of The Shire (used for filming the Lord of The Rings, and The Hobbit trilogies). Imagine my bewilderment. I doubt you can, so let me just mention that the noise that came from my mouth when I read my congratulatory e-mail was not at all human. I elected to take my trusty companion Katy. She’s just as fond of Tolkien’s trilogy as I am, but considerably less vocal about it.  
  
When arriving at Heathrow we were both rather disappointed to be delivered to New Zealand by means of aeroplane. In place of an assembly of eagles, my friend and I were presented with a stuffy container, a hundred other humans and a leaky trough of what the airline insisted was food, but can only be described as what falls from the back end of a donkey. Albeit, the presence of some presents in the form of signed, extended editions of the LoTR DVDs made the flight infinitely more enjoyable. We slunk back into our seats to rewatch, for the thousandth time, the adaptation of what is essentially the nerd bible.  
  
As we made our descent into Wellington, thankful we were now above the runway rather than the South Pacific, Katy reminded me that we still had a few days before we could taste the infamous Green Dragon cider. The days passed slowly. Painfully. Sleepless nights went by until the rising of the sun emblazoned a new morning. It had come. The day was here.  
  
We drove: an hour, three. Our bus – a mint green 1965 Volkswagen Wayfarer, beat to hell and just as warm, a beauty – bucked and whined grey shale and claystone. I thought back to the cool clean air and seatback entertainment of our 379 from Heathrow, and smirked: this was the only way to travel. At noon we reached Mount Ngauruhoe: a cloud tickler with a frosted peak and a molten core. At its base my friend and I asked a pair of park rangers (salacots and knee-socks both) if we could bend the No-Access-Eruption-Imminent rule to take a snap or two of the beet-red roots of the neighbouring volcano. We were promptly waved back. I guess Boromir was right when he said one cannot simply walk into Mordor.  
  
Alas, we had to venture on. Two more hours passed on the second leg of our drive. Vast, lush pastures surrounded the road, stretching as far as the eye could see (which wasn’t actually that far; I‘d left my glasses back in Costa del Britain).  
  
The weathered brakes ground to a halt – ohmyGOD! The walk down the centre of the bus felt like I was walking down the aisle to my love. The only difference being that a union between girl and movie set was in no way legal. Well, not in New Zealand anyway.  
  
My heart had an audible reaction as my foot hit hard ground. We were welcomed with the rolling hills and little rivers of the Shire. Emerald meadows and azure skies met at the horizon in perfect harmony.  
  
Pursuing it with eager feet, I followed the cobbled path to Bag End. Past the gate and up the stone steps I scrambled. I placed the tips of my fingers on the worn, green, wooden circle and gingerly pushed. The door creaked, whistled, swung wide. I commanded my feet to step forward; there was a pause, acknowledgement, and then I was across the threshold. As I am a Hobbit in every aspect but size I had to duck as I stepped though… and I still bumped my head. My starved eyes could now feast upon a hoard of treasure that hid at the heart of Hobbiton. Everywhere treasure: Bilbo’s this and Frodo’s that and this bit from that book and that bit from this book and – look! – a sword!  
  
Me being me, and food being food, the first room I decided to snoop around was the kitchen. The kettle was steaming over the smouldering remains of a fire, ready for Luncheon, or was it Afternoon Tea?  
  
I continued to wander through the house. An inviting arm chair was tempting my drowsy body to relax for a few moments. As I sat down I looked through a round window revealing the boundless glades of The Shire. It was in this solemn moment that I realized I was now a part of this world; this world filled with mirth and magic. I also realized how lousy Bilbo’s feng shui is. Through the glass portal I spied the land across the water; to the Green Dragon it held host. My thirst for adventure had been quenched but not so my desire for that drink.  
  
We tottered over the bridge, into the Inn and, with a sip of crisp cider, bid farewell to the sun as it passed into the west.


End file.
